


lean on the end of the knife

by j_quadrifrons



Series: Stay Vicious [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bondage, Elias whump, M/M, Monster!Jon, Monsters in love, Pet monsters, Whump, balance!Martin, canon-typical sexy compulsion, feral!Archivist, fluffy dubcon, just a lil hint of lonely eyes in there, post-Watcher's Crown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: The Archivist has never been more beautiful.//Elias learns his place in the new world.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Elias Bouchard, Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Series: Stay Vicious [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1494203
Comments: 35
Kudos: 202





	lean on the end of the knife

**Author's Note:**

> nb: Since this is wholly and entirely an AU, I've decided to keep labeling it post-Watcher's Crown, despite the fact that we now know that it wasn't. (That is, this is decisively not based on anything in 160.)

The Archivist has never been more beautiful than he is now, on his knees on the plush, expensive rug in front of the old mahogany desk, his eyes lowered but his chin up to display the collar of fine gold filigree nestled around his throat. He wears cuffs on his wrists to match, but they aren't fastened to anything, and his hands rest palms-up on his thighs, fingers gently curling, utterly at ease in spite of how long he's held this position. In the low light cast by the desk lamp, his scars shiver and blink open like thousands of tiny eyes, echoes of the great one that watches them all from the sky. He is breathtaking, _perfect_ , ushered into the fullness of his power by the Watcher's Crown and held in readiness by the ruler of the fallen world.

And there, in the center of it all, leaning casually against _his_ desk, in _his_ Institute, with _his_ Archivist bound at his feet, where he was _meant to be_ , is Martin Blackwood. Who has somehow achieved the impossible dream of holding the reins of all the Powers while being beholden to none of them; who has already begun to shape this new world to his own design. Who Elias had thought he had learned not to underestimate.

It's never too late to learn, it seems.

Neither of them have moved since their pet Hunter dropped him, still trussed with his wrists bound to his ankles, just inside the door of what used to be his office. The Archivist hasn't so much as raised his eyes, leaning ever so slightly into the touch of Martin's hand combing gently through his hair. Martin himself has not stopped watching Elias since he was brought in, and the weight of his gaze is...heavier than it should be, and more comforting. It feels _right_ to be watched by Martin Blackwood in a way that makes Elias want to scream.

The Archivist shifts slightly, an unconscious movement in a human but a deliberate sign from one such as him. Martin's hand stills, then tightens, drawing fine strands of grey tight through his fingers. "What do you need, Jon?" he asks. The Archivist lowers his chin a fraction of an inch, breathes out a slow, deep breath, but does not answer. Softer, gentler, Martin asks, "What do you want?"

Jon looks up, just a flicker of his eyelids, but the hungry look in his fathomless dark eyes steals the breath from Elias's lungs. Then he closes them again and breathes, "Whatever you want, Martin."

Elias can feel that voice in his _bones_ , the hum of power like an electric shock even without the force of a question behind it, even whispered softly in submission. He yearns to answer it, to spill all his desires from bleeding lips, but that permission wasn't given to him.

"Very good," Martin says, soothing. He tightens his hand in Jon's hair, pulling, and instead of arching his back to ease the strain Jon leans against Martin's grip, pulling harder. Across the room, Elias thrashes silently in his bonds. The Archivist lets out a pleasured sigh as he tries to pull away and Martin doesn't let him move, and then suddenly all his tension is gone and he slumps against Martin's thigh, panting softly. Martin caresses him gently, then drops his hand. "Go on, then."

Jon pulls himself straight again and opens his eyes, and the Archivist looks at Elias properly for the first time.

Although this is what he'd been hoping for, what he'd been working towards for more than two hundred years, it's so much _more_ than Elias had ever expected. He has long since grown accustomed to the feeling of being watched; in this new world, everyone has. This is different. This is not being watched by an impersonal Eye that takes in everything and cares about nothing; this is being judged and dissected and Known down to his core.

"Where have you been?" the Archivist asks. "And what have you been doing?"

If he could think, he might have had the chance to be thrilled by the note of loss in the Archivist's voice, as if he knows something has been missing, but Elias has no time to think. The compulsion rips through his body like an orgasm, overwhelming and irresistible; he isn't even sure what he says when he begins to speak, only of the look in his Archivist's eyes, hungry and unwavering.

Elias speaks until his voice goes hoarse and rough, until he tastes blood at the back of his throat. He speaks until he has no more secrets to tell, and then he continues with trivialities and small terrors that would barely have qualified for a statement before the world had been changed, and all the while he watches the Archivist watch him in return, and there is nothing in all the world but the two of them and the great Eye that watches over all.

He has no idea how much time has passed when he finally falls silent, emptied of words and thoughts. The bindings he'd found so humiliating not long ago are the only things holding him together. There is something he ought to be doing, he's quite sure, but he can't seem to identify it through the peaceful haze of exhaustion.

The sound of that rich, dark voice from across the room draws enough of his attention to bring him back to himself, though it takes him a moment to piece sounds together into words. " _Please_ ," he hears the Archivist say, and everything in him aches to answer with _yes, everything_.

Instead it's Martin who says, "All right, then. Since you've been so good."

The feeling that twists through him then reminds him of nothing so much as Peter's pointed, cutting neglect; the knowledge that whatever else may be happening, his opinion doesn't matter. It rattles around in the empty place inside of him where the Archivist has drawn out all of his secrets.

And then Jon is wrapping his arms around him, nuzzling into Elias's hair and petting gently at the places where his bindings bite into his skin. He doesn't need to say it aloud, but Elias can hear it anyway: _Mine, mine, mine._ It sinks into him like the gaze of the Eye, inescapable and precious, a comfort that feels like being flayed alive.

Everything is wrong. His ritual has succeeded but it cost him everything, his Institute, his Archivist, his husband, his dignity. He never dreamed he could be brought so low. And yet, for this one moment, he doesn't care.


End file.
